by Arden, Susan
Twice Tempted
Susan Arden
Sweet-N-Spicy Tales
Twice Tempted
Series: Bad Boys Don’t Drink the Water Book 2
Copyright © Susan Arden
Published: May 2013
SWEET-N-SPICY TALES
The right of Susan Arden to be identified as author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Find out more about the author and upcoming books online at http://www.susanarden.com or Twitter: @romancebysusan
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/SusanTaylorAuthor
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Dedication
To Doug Taylor, my best friend and husband. Lately, (aka) the voice of reason.
You are the inspiration behind each story. The heart and soul of why I love romance writing.
Let me say, a big thank you to Donna G. Hatch for the first round of proofing edits.
Also, thank you for the proofing work completed by Autumn Conley.
And, then a HUGE thanks goes to Barbara Gibbs for final proofing.
To Jim, over at Jim and Zetta formatting—thank you.
I call in a mad rush and man, you always come through.
And finally, I’d be lost with Mara, my fab beta reader.
Without you all, I’d be a complete mess.
Having ADHD could be frustrating without the support of these wonderful people.
Twice Tempted
A Bad Boys Don’t Drink the Water Series Novel. Twice Tempted is Book 1 and takes place approximately four years prior to Tempted by Trouble (Book 1).
This series features Cynthia “Sam” Cainwright and Carolina Rodriguez from Miami, Florida.
Author’s Note: Twice Tempted and Tempted by Trouble were NaNoWriMo 2012 Winners The original story grew and grew until the love story took off into this series. Tempted by Trouble, an erotic Western romance, was published in April 2013.
PART ONE
Step one in finding myself: break free from others’ expectations.
Chapter 1
Miami, Florida
Rob peeled open his eyes, groaning loudly into a set of white whiskers. On his chest his cat sat purring, proud as furry peacock. Fully clothed, Rob lay sprawled on top of his bed.
Unabashed, the cat continued to rub its cheek against his chin. “Shelby, hold on, girl,” he said between gritted teeth.
The pounding in his head was reminiscent of an angry-as-hell jackhammer. Another night in paradise, and he’d gotten too shit-faced to enjoy the scenery.
“Damn,” he groaned, picking up the calico and placing her on the floor. Upright in bed, his world became much more painful. He tightened his hold on his head and squeezed, leaning back against the headboard. What in the hell time was it anyway?
Bleary-eyed, Rob squinted at the clock. Fucking fantastic. He’d forgotten to set his alarm. In less than an hour he was due downtown for a photo-shoot. He thought of his client, Cynthia Cainwright, and the stabbing pain in his head worsened.
He’d agreed to photograph her only after his arm had been twisted. Actually, there was no choice. The request had come directly from World Travel CEO, Randall Cainwright, III. Cainwright had called him last week and, considering that most of Rob’s income came through the work he did for the man, this wasn’t a request that he could ignore or refuse.
Cainwright’s little girl was on a nonstop ride to the top as a travel mogul heiress. And he’d been summoned as the photographer for some hush-hush exclusive interview. As much as he wanted to close his eyes, forgetting his mess of a life, he had to get moving. He couldn’t afford to be late, a mistake that would cost him his reputation, among other things.
Swinging his feet off the bed, he inhaled and blindly stared at the floor. Some career ladder he’d gotten himself climbing, he thought. More like a downward spiral.
So far, he’d settled on one of the low rungs—a hefty price to pay just to earn a damn living. What’s next? Birthday parties with screaming kids covered in frosting, taking pony rides? His choice of work assignments was a far cry from his original goal of shooting untamed landscapes. Instead of capturing the grandeur of nature, he’d sold his soul agreeing to capture vacation hotspots. He hated to think back to the last time he’d lost himself in the majestic splendor of Mother Nature. The only panoramic shoots he’d been on lately involved hotel pool scenes, where he’d stationed himself at the bar at the end of the day.
Rob raked his fingers through his hair. Shit. A trust-fund princess was not his idea of a good time, drunk or sober.
Pushing off the mattress, he stood and stretched. The banging in his head grew worse. His mouth felt and tasted as if it was filled with sandpaper and glue. Try as he might, he’d no clue how he’d made it home last night.
Loud purring beckoned him from down around his calf, as his only live-in companion vied for his attention. The calico mewed and rubbed up against his shin.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “Women.”
Shelby seemingly ignored his complaints and followed him, as she’d done since the moment she latched onto him a year ago, right around the time when his world bottomed out. He’d been unable to get rid of her, and she’d managed to find her way into his home, as if it was hers to command. The calico had insisted on showing up on Rob’s porch each and every morning until he’d eventually given up all hope of finding her real owner. In the end, the cat’s tenacity won out over his desire to be alone.
Walking by his bureau, he glared at the issue of Forbes which featured a story on World Travel. Cainwright’s daughter was about to officially be unveiled to corporate America. The woman must be some kind of hard-ass to stand toe-to-toe in the travel industry. He could only imagine the type of exterior a woman in this type of cutthroat industry would sport. So far the only photographs available were taken when she’d been young enough to still wear braces and braids. A smiling girl with wide innocent eyes. Other photographs featured her as a small child standing between a younger Cainwright and his wife, a dark-haired woman with an unusually tight expression.
Not one other photograph existed of Cynthia Cainwright for all his online searching, which in itself was suspicious. He didn’t doubt Cainwright had something to do with putting a lid on the paparazzi. The man’s reputation as a ball-buster preceded him.
“Good thing for digital editing,” he muttered to himself. He tugged off his T-shirt that reeked of smoke and beer, and only-God-knows what else.
After dumping a can of cat food into Shelby’s bowl, Rob jumped in the shower. He shaved and dressed in his least-wrinkled khakis and a polo shirt.
With a camera bag slung over each shoulder, he hustled down the hall, mentally checking off his eq
uipment list—lights, tripods, meters, indoor filters he’d recently purchased, and at least two new SD memory cards. Loaded down, he headed out the door.
He waved to his tenant, Mrs. Rubio, a widow who rented the other side of the beachside duplex. Tires screeching out of the driveway, he had few minutes to spare. One hand gripping the shifter, he double-clutched past the toll, letting his EZ Pass do all the talking. There was the usual of amount stop-and-go traffic, and he wove between the cars on I-95. Still, he wouldn’t make the shooting on time at this rate.
Rob floored the gas, casually glancing in the rearview. Shit. Right in front of a patrol car, he was nearing triple digits. He quickly eyed the speedometer and downshifted. As if the hangover wasn’t enough, a speeding ticket would be the cherry on this screwed up morning.
He exited the highway minus a police escort. Not far from his destination, he officially had two minutes to make the shoot, and that was pushing it. He still had to park and unload his gear. His jaw clenched at the thought of having his ass chewed by some overindulged female.
Pulling into the Cainwright Corporate Tower garage, he swore, gazing at the packed rows of occupied parking. The CEO space, along with several exec spots were occupied. All but one in the corner.
A glance at his watch told him that he was officially three minutes late. What the hell? He backed into the space, weighing the possibility of being towed.
Standing up, he counted the seconds ticking by, and absentmindedly knocked his head into the doorframe with enough force to make the dim parking garage recede from his vision.
“Christ. When it rains, it storms,” he said as he hauled himself from his car.
No matter what he did, his morning refused to fall into line. This photo assignment was becoming more and more memorable for all the wrong reasons. His neck muscles contracted into rigid cords. His lifestyle—correction his whole life—had to change. Drinking and hooking up with women, only to wake up in a haze, not remembering what the heck he’d done, was becoming the norm. Up to his neck with equipment, he put all thoughts on the shelf. This wasn’t the right time for a come-to-Jesus moment.
Rob grabbed his last camera case, hoisted it over his shoulder while balancing a boatload of equipment, and headed toward the illuminated exit sign.
On the sidewalk, he joined the crowd teeming into the building. He’d worked for World Travel for about a year, but this was his first time to enter the corporate side of the vacation hot spots he photographed each month. Composed of modern green glass, steel, and poured concrete, the fifty-two-story building sat on the edge of the causeway, where hundreds of suit-clad bodies swarmed.
An unusually agile woman sailed alongside him, weaving between the others bodies, with an expensive leather attaché in hand, sunglasses perched on her nose, and a copy of The Miami Herald held out in front of her. No one with a set of rubberneck-worthy curves such as those should get away so fast.
Hell, she resembled a wild gazelle and it had been too long since he’d been on safari. He lengthened his stride trying to keep up with the fleet filly in heels.
Apparently unwilling to be outdone, she sped up to breakneck speed, unrelenting in her pursuit of the entrance. She threw a warning look over her a shoulder, one that he should have heeded.
“Excuse me.” She softly laughed as she cut him off. The sound of her voice crept up his spine coupled with the image of her incredible body, and he lost sight of the entrance.
He stared at a pair of sensational hips gliding through the open door into the building as he collided with the doorframe.
“Damn,” he muttered, watching the woman offer a slight nod with a rapid-fire murmur of thanks to the man with the door handle in hand. It must have been payment enough for the man looked over at Rob grinning, and helplessly shrugged.
Shaking his head, Rob approached the visitor’s desk, reading the sign about checking in for World Travel.
“Sir, your business?” the guard asked, peering up at him.
“Rob Graham. I have an appointment with Mr. Cainwright,” he said, wincing as the words flipped from his tongue. “Actually, Ms. Cainwright.”
He presented his identification, mindful that he still held the late card, and tapped his fingers on the counter.
“Just a moment. I don’t see your name on the list of appointments,” the guard said, holding a receiver to his ear. “I’ll need to check with her assistant.”
Rob inhaled slowly, surprised at the lock-and-key attitude of protection. Cynthia Cainwright was months out of college, young but not exactly green. From what he’d heard on the road, Ms. Cainwright had taken the travel industry by storm, practically walking on water. It was the same report during each of the shoots he’d been assigned over the last month. He’d photographed the international vacation resorts owned and operated by World Travel. To say World Travel was a tiger of a figure in the industry would have been an understatement.
The guard pursed his lips, silently listening to someone on the other end. Rob was now ten minutes late. He continued to man his post at the visitor’s desk casually noting various women come and go. A rainbow of colors filled his gaze, resembling exotic birds in flight. And a few flung curious glances and smiles in his direction. He would have enjoyed the sight more if a trolley of coffee had passed by.
Right now, he needed at least a gallon to tone down the stabbing pain from right behind his eyeballs. Last night, he’d tied one on so tightly he was ready to swear off alcohol for good. He closed his eyes and rubbed his throbbing temples.
The soft scent of flowers along with something else, something smoky and woody infused his senses. The delicate tapping of heels against the granite floors edged inside his head.
Click-click-click.
Hell. His single male sex-driven imagination needed no further clues. He peeled open his eyes.
Oh, yeah. The vista was well worth the time it took for the security guard to confirm he wasn’t here to hold anyone hostage or to rob the place.
The same young woman who’d outgunned him for the open door passed by and eased his sore eyes. Rob swung his head to follow her sexy progression across the lobby. He straightened, pulling himself up every inch of his six-foot-five-frame to get a better view.
Jesus Priest. This time his eyes were glued to a pair of long slender legs framed by a short tight skirt. For a second, he stared at the woman’s heels. Those types of shoes were hazardous in mixed company; seductive stilettos if he’d ever seen a pair. Rob couldn’t look away from the fashion combination which spelled L-E-T-H-A-L.
Apparently no longer in a race, she sashayed by with a casual sway of her curvy hips, leaving Rob to eat up each step, forcing himself to stand there, mesmerized by her saunter.
If he was going to make a move, it had to be now. His cock twitched, and he glanced at the guard. The man looked like he’d have trouble chasing a parked car. This woman might be part of the business world, but she was hot. Smoldering.
On second look, she was the type that liked to tease and torment a man by the way she dressed. And, he bet, undressed.
Sweet Mary. Starting at the top of her head, he feasted on hair, then her high cheekbones, and lower down her body to a pair of full breasts. He kept working his eyes as she passed in front of him. From her profile, he confirmed, the entire front package was equally as enticing. She was a game-changer in his playbook.
When she glanced over and caught him staring, their gazes met for a second—locked really—and she smiled; the effect was entrancing. She looked away, moving toward the elevator corridor, and giving him a view of her rear. And what a rear it was. In that moment, his cock certainly wanted to get to know her better.
“Mr. Graham?” The guard now repeated his name for the second time.
“Sorry. Am I all set?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Here’s your visitor’s pass. Take the elevators around the corner, up to the penthouse. Miss Cainwright’s assistant is waiting for you there.”
“Thanks
.” Rob grabbed his tripods off the counter and headed into the fragrant draft of the woman. He turned the corner hearing a loud ding.
Up ahead, the woman stepped into a waiting elevator. The shiny panels began to shut. Rob called out over his armful of photography equipment, “Hold the door!”
Inside the elevator, the woman cocked her head and bit her lip as the doors eased together. She appeared to be pressing a button, her breasts jiggling up and down. The sight of her body stunned his brain.
“Sorry,” she mouthed, shrugging as though she didn’t know what to do, and then she broke out into seductive laugh.
Good thing he was left there standing. In his overheated imagination, he envisioned getting into the elevator with her and pulling the emergency button. His cock throbbed at the mental image of thrusting into such a vision. Being turned on this much wasn’t his usual reaction during a work assignment. A woman like that could cost him this job.
Lifting his chin, he silently acknowledged—yep—the front was ten times as good as what he’d seen so far. Another elevator opened, and several people poured outward connected to cellphones. Rob exhaled and entered, squashing the penthouse button. His head pounded painfully. He reminded himself to forget the distraction of hips and boobs, and he’d better focus his attention on the photo shoot ahead of him.
Chapter 2
The penthouse came into view where he stepped into a reception area of muted forest colors and soft light. Dark paneled walls with artwork and hidden light fixtures created an ambiance that was quite a contrast to the executive he was about to greet.
Randall Cainwright came from a long line of men who specialized in traveling the world in search of property. They brought businessmen and businesswomen together globally in vacation spots, investment properties and were responsible for five-star hotels in exotic locations. Today was a far different photo shoot, and Rob wasn’t especially talented or known for his work with the up-close and personal side of photography required for portraits. His specialty was doing on-site layouts of objects that might incorporate people, but the focus wasn’t on something that had thought or volition. He wasn’t keen on setting up a shoot amidst chatterboxes or people whose agendas were out of sync with his. He considered himself patient, willing to wait as weather conditions changed to get his shot, but Mother Nature’s mood swings were far more tolerable than the human variety, particularly when it came to the rich and famous.